


Three-ring Circus

by Dawnlit_Waters



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Circus, Gen, Memories, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 03:18:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14275794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnlit_Waters/pseuds/Dawnlit_Waters
Summary: He's long since lost count the times he hears the phrase "three-ring circus" being uttered such way, insinuating it's the epitome of chaos or confusion or both.





	Three-ring Circus

"…And then—ya ain't gonna believe it—Batman, motherfuckin' _Batman_ , barged in from da window, broken glass rainin' down fuckin' everywhere. Da pretty one was at his heels."

"Heard that redhead chick's mighty hot."

"' _Heard_ '? Wet behind da ears, ain't ya? Anyway I didn't mean no chick. I meant da pretty boy new on da block. Been wonderin' where he comes from…"

"You go ask him next time then. What happened next?"

"What do ya _think_ what happened next?! Circus, I tell ya, a total fuckin' three-ring circus is what happened next!"

About thirty yards to the chatting henchmen's south, perching on the shadowed roof edge of a mid-rise across the street, Nightwing chuckles drily. He's long since lost count the times he hears the phrase "three-ring circus" being uttered such way, insinuating it's the epitome of chaos or confusion or both.

He recalls his first encounter with the usage. It happened shortly after he'd become Robin.

"Maroni's f-flunkies have m-m-made my life a goddamned bedlam. F-f-feels like I'm in a three-ring circus t-twenty-four seven," stammered a mob-owned lawyer in a desperate attempt to win a little sympathy from him. He was just about to inform the shyster how categorically wrong his understanding of a three-ring circus was when Batman laid a calming, cautioning hand on his shoulder. Reminding himself the danger of revealing personal details while on duty, he put a lid on the words boiling inside his chest.

The lid didn't stay on for long. Weeks later, he attended a charity event with Bruce, and some general's wife there less-than-accidentally let slip the expression while recounting to them and several socialites the "absolutely appalling" time her convertible broke down in a crime-infested East End neighborhood.

"With all due respect, ma'am," he said, trying his best to maintain an appearance of civility, "as a former member of a three-ring circus, I can safely say it resembles little of your unfortunate experience in the East End. The running of a sizeable circus business requires order and precision of the highest magnitude. This is because in order for a circus to show up in a new location every day on time, it needs to repeatedly accomplish the cycle of transportation, debarkation, and embarkation of the entire show—including a big top holding thousands, myriad pieces of equipment, hundreds of staffs and performers, animals large and small, and many other things—within a very strict time limit." Seeing Mr. Haly's treasured collection of old books depicting the golden age of American circus in his mind's eye, he added, "In the early days of the railroad, even the US military marveled at and endeavored to learn from circus people's ways dealing with logistics."

The woman fumed over his " _faux pas_." Bruce gave his arm a reassuring squeeze and took charge of the situation, putting a stop to her disgruntled response before diplomatically extracting them from the conversation.

On their ride back to the manor he apologized to Bruce for his rashness. "Dick, there's nothing wrong to stand up for yourself under such circumstances," the man replied. "You don't owe me or anyone an apology for that. What's more, I really should thank you. Surely Mrs. Featherstone won't be as keen to set me up with her darling niece henceforth."

Back then, when waking up in the same city morning after morning was still new to him, Bruce and Alfred used to worry about the adjustment he had to face leaving the circus he'd born into. Neither of them voiced the sentiment, but he could sense it hanging in the air. In hindsight, despite being heartwarmingly considerate, their concern was far from necessary. His transition turned out to be smooth, remarkably smooth. At that time, he was too young and too busy going on one adventure after another to give the fact any serious thought. It took the better part of a decade for him to begin to contemplate why it'd been so.

Eventually, he realized he'd been leading the circus way of life all along.

When he shared this gem of self-discovery with Wally in one of their spontaneous growing pain talks, the speedster gently but firmly pried the beer bottle from his fingers.

Fully understanding how absurd he must have sounded to Wally, he didn't protest. Instead, he explained, "I wasn't speaking nonsense. You see, at Haly's, I lived with my family and was surrounded by good friends from the tight-knit circus community I belonged to. My lifestyle was physically demanding and highly disciplined—I shed blood, sweat, and tears alongside loved ones year-round. Some activities I engaged in with great enthusiasm presented serious danger, but fortunately while risking my safety I enjoyed the most excellent support. I had little profound, long-term interaction with those beyond my immediate social circle of circus people. The towners—that's circus lingo for outsiders—saw not my true self, but my stage persona, which, although rooted in my real personality, was a larger-than-life character in flashy costume. Does any of these ring a bell?"

"If you put it that way…" Wally nodded slowly. "And now the trapeze phenomenon is truly leaving his circus, flying solo."

Unable to bring himself to point out to his best friend—and even less so to himself—that no one could ever be "solo" in a flying act, he remained silent.

A flyer alone is a flyer falling; a catcher alone is a catcher without a purpose. He's been both in his rocky pursuit of self and independence. He's grateful for the ordeal, because through it he's relearned how to reach out to his fellow bat- and bird-themed aerialists, this time on a new footing befitting his new identity. Dick Grayson—circus brat, the first Robin, Nightwing—has reunited with the most exciting circus on earth.

"Nightwing. Everyone's in position. You can commence infiltration as planned."

The moment Batman's voice comes through his earpiece, Nightwing's full attention snaps back to the mission at hand.

"Roger that. Wish me luck."

 _Ladies and gentlemen, and children of all ages, get ready for tonight's show!_ Pulling the trigger of his grapple gun, he leaps into action.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The anecdote about the US military being impressed by circus logistics is real. If you're interested, one account of such incident can be found in the 4th paragraph of [this page](http://www.circushistory.org/History/OnRoad1.htm).
> 
> -
> 
> As a non-native English speaker, I apologize in advance for the mistakes in the text. Please feel free to point them out, so that I may improve.
> 
> Your feedback will make me a happy, happy writer and keep me going. <3


End file.
